In Between
by WRTRD
Summary: Trouble on the home front, set early in Season 5. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Castle had kissed, more than kissed, her goodbye half an hour ago, and should be on the train to Washington by now. Beckett's alone in his kitchen, perched on a stool and having another cup of coffee while she reads the paper. Wearing one of his tee shirts—the STUD MUFFIN one she'd bought him as a joke a few weeks ago—she's able to relax this morning because she has a court appearance and doesn't need to leave until almost 10:00. She's in the middle of a movie review when she hears his key in the lock, and she jumps up and smiles, one hand on her hip, and puts on her sultriest voice.

"Forget something, Castle? Or did you already miss me?"

"Detective Beckett?"

"Alexis?" Oh, shit. She tugs on the hem of the shirt, but it still barely covers what she really, really doesn't want Castle's 18-year-old daughter to see.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" The girl is even paler than usual, which seems almost impossible. "I mean, aren't you usually there much earlier than this? And Dad?"

How can she get from the kitchen to the bedroom in her deshabille without walking by Alexis? Oh, she loves the French. Deshabille sounds so much better than "almost naked," since the only thing she has on under Castle's tee shirt is her own skin. "Your father's on his way to a mystery writers' conference in Washington and I'm going to a parole hearing later this morning so I had, um, extra time." She coughs. "How's school?"

"Fine."

Amazing how a benign four-letter-word can sound so chilly. "Good, good. I'm glad. Sorry you missed your Dad."

"I'm not here to see him." She's still standing ten feet in front of the door. "I just came to pick up a couple of things."

"Okay. Well, its nice to see you. I'll be out of your hair in a couple of minutes. Just have to shower—get dressed." And with that she flees the room. She shuts the bathroom door, leans against it, and sighs. She wishes that she and Alexis could get closer, wishes that Castle had told her about them sooner, wishes a lot of things. All right, she's mortified, and she's not staying here. She'll pull on what she wore yesterday, which is currently strewn around the bedroom, and go home. She can bathe and change there. Ugh.

A few minutes later she walks into the living room, but there's no sign of the newly-minted college student. "Alexis? I'm going now. Bye!"

A faint "bye" comes from somewhere upstairs.

Alexis waits to hear the click of the front door before she comes downstairs with the jacket she'd collected from her room. She shudders at the memory of her encounter, or whatever it was, with Beckett. It's not as though she doesn't know that the detective and her father have sex, it's just. Just, does she have to flaunt it? Sitting there in his shirt? God. When he's not even here! And she's going to break his heart, or worse. Dammit.

Munching on an apple before she leaves, she remembers that she's out of stamps. No problem: her Dad always has sheets and sheets of them in his desk drawer. He's a sucker for almost every commemorative that's issued: dogs, flags, old movie stars, lighthouses, trees, historical monuments. She drops the apple core in the garbage disposal and heads for his office. She misses it, misses watching him write and spin in his chair. She may be 18, but she still likes to spin in his chair; hell, he's in his 40s and still likes to spin in his chair. When she was little she used to close her eyes and make bets: how many pencils were in his pencil holder? When she opened her eyes, what's the first book she'd see? Was the wastebasket empty or not? She sits down, as she's done for years, and takes a few whirls; when she stops, her eyes light on an open, leather-bound notebook on the desk. The left-hand page is covered in his handwriting and the right is already a quarter full. It must be notes for his new book. She hasn't seen any of those in a while, and this will be fun, like old times.

But it's not notes for a book. It's a journal. It's personal. She realizes it the instant she picks it up and the name Kate emerges from a sea of ink. A morass. Quicksand, sucking her in. She knows she shouldn't read it, but she does. When she's halfway down the page, three sentences sear her retina; at least, that's what it feels like.

 _I never thought it was possible to love someone the way I love Kate. Everything. It's everything._

Oh, God. She's going to be sick. She has to get out of here. She runs through the loft, out the door, and down the stairs. At the third-floor landing she stops, bends over to get some air, and sits down, still gripping the bannister. Kate is everything? Everything? What about her? His daughter? Isn't she anything? She doesn't want to cry, but she does, stifling the sound with her jacket. When she's done, she stands stiffly, walks down the stairs, through the lobby, out the door, and onto the street, where she follows the route to the subway by rote. Because she doesn't feel a thing.

It's been sixteen days. More than two weeks since Beckett has seen, spoken to, or had any communication with Alexis. More than two weeks since their kitchen moment. That's not unexpected, really: it had been awkward, and she'd never mentioned it to Castle. Safe bet that Alexis hadn't either. But Castle is another story: he's fretting, way more than he'll acknowledge. He's seen his daughter only once over that stretch, when he he'd taken her out to lunch, and she begs off or keeps the conversation short whenever he wants to FaceTime or Skype. In sixteen days, he's been the only one to initiate contact. But he'd promised not to poke around in her life too much, now that she's 18 and living on her own, and he's trying not to pry.

"Darling," Martha had said last night when her son hadn't been able to hide how morose he was about how seldom he sees or talks to Alexis. "She's in college, for Heaven's sake. She's spreading her wings. Birds do leave the nest, you know. But she'll come back."

"Well, you certainly did, Mother," he'd replied.

"Now, now."

He's been distracted all day. No one else has noticed it, but she has: the slight shifts in body language—he's curling in on himself a little—the just-detectable faraway look in his eyes. She's grateful that the case they'd wrapped up today was a straightforward one that didn't require his unique kind of theorizing. He'd even begged off around 2:00, with the excuse of having to write. "You know me, guys," he'd said chirpily. "I'll take writing over paperwork any day." But as she'd watched him go to the elevator she'd seen his shoulders slump and she'd known exactly what he'd do at home, especially with no one there to see him. It would be moping, not writing.

"You're a Detective. Detect," she scolds her reflection in the precinct ladies' room mirror. Alexis's coolness started right after she'd found Kate alone in the kitchen, in Castle's shirt. He'd hardly been a monk before he'd met her, but he'd told her that he'd always been very careful about having the women he was dating spend time in the loft. That has not been the case with her. She all but lives there now, much as that surprises her. Right after she and Castle got together, Alexis went to Europe with her grandmother; after she got back, she spent the rest of the summer in the Hamptons. The last week in August she moved into the dorm at Columbia. Still, until recently Alexis had been in and out of the loft often and seen her there; she wasn't warm, but she wasn't rude or unwelcoming. So what had happened? It's beyond unlikely that Castle had done something to upset his daughter to this extent, so she must be the guilty party. But why? What has she done?

It's the end of the day. She takes one more perplexed look in the mirror, goes back to her desk, and tries to decide how to approach Alexis. Something has gone awry and whatever it is, she wants, needs, to clear the air. She can't call her, can't text or email, because it will get her nowhere. If Alexis ducks her father, she's sure to do the same with her father's girlfriend. That leaves one route: she'll go see her. Ask her straight out. Castle has told her stories about what a serious student Alexis has always been, the kind of kid who did her weekend homework by dinnertime on Friday while everyone else waited until Sunday night. Kate doubts that she's changed: it may be late Friday afternoon, and she may be in college now, but Alexis will be studying. She grabs her bag and her coat, says goodnight to Espo and Ryan, and leaves. As soon as she's in her car she takes out her phone and texts Castle.

 _Lanie suddenly free so we're having a drink. Later. xox_

She hates lying to him, but it's forgivable. It's in the best possible cause, and he never needs to find out. She tucks the phone away and pulls away from the curb: next stop, West 112th Street. Alexis's dorm.

Traffic is horrible. What was she thinking? She should have taken the subway. All the way stopping-and-starting uptown she goes over her side of the conversation. The closer she gets to Columbia, the more she wonders about the wisdom of her choice. What if Alexis is in the library? Somewhere with a study group? Drowning her sorrows courtesy of a fake ID? Scratch the last one. Never.

She finds a parking place a block away and stops at the nearest Starbucks for the chai that Alexis likes and an industrial-strength coffee for herself. She adds a slice of lemon pound cake as some kind of peace offering, inhales deeply, and walks to the dorm. Help me, Lord, she says silently.

A student is coming out of the building, so she doesn't have to buzz Alexis to get entry. It's a bit of luck, as she wants the element of surprise. She walks rather than rides to the fifth floor, and knocks on the door. She'd expected a "Who's there?" but instead hears the doorknob turn and sees Castle's daughter in sweatpants, slippers, and a jersey, her hair in a braid.

"Detective Beckett?"

The girl is clearly shocked. Beckett smiles and holds up the little cardboard tray. "May I come in? I'd love to talk for a few minutes."

"Oh. Okay. Sure. Sorry. Come in. I'm studying. Pre-med is already a ton of work."

"Your room's so nice. Just like your father told me." Oh, shit, why had she said that? She rushes on. "I love the round window. You're incredibly lucky to have scored a single as a freshman."

"Right."

"Here. This chai is for you. And the cake." Where is she going to sit?

"Thanks. Uh, why don't you take my chair?" She gestures towards her desk. "I'll sit on the bed."

The dead air around them is suffocating. Should she wait for Alexis to ask her why she's here, or get the ball rolling herself? Alexis is looking at her lap and picking nervously at the plastic wrap around the cake, which answers the unspoken question. Suck it up, she tells herself. You're the alleged adult here. "I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing here. If you want to kick me out and tell me to mind my own business, I'll understand, but I hope you won't."

No response.

"Oh, and please, call me Kate. I'd really like that."

No response.

"Or Beckett, if you'd rather. I answer to that, too."

No response.

She takes a gulp of coffee. It may not do anything for her nerves, but it gives her resolve. "I'm just going to jump right in, Alexis. I think I must have done something to upset you, in some terrible, enormous way, and I don't know what it is. I apologize. It's just," she pauses to brace herself for the next part. "It's just that I feel as though you're punishing your Dad for something that I've done. He doesn't talk about it, but I can see how your—" Your what? "Your _absence_ , is eating him up. And it breaks my heart." Unconsciously she puts two fingers on the spot where a sniper's bullet had torn her apart 18 months ago. "I've never seen a father and daughter as close as you two."

Alexis still hasn't said anything, but at least she has her attention. She can see it in her eyes and the straightening of her spine.

"I can tell how upset you are, too, even though I don't know you well. It must be hard to accept a girlfriend in your father's life."

Those pale blue eyes are ice. "My father's had a string of girlfriends."

Jesus, thanks for the reminder. "Right. Yes. It's. Well, even at my age if my father started dating someone I'd have a hard time with it at first."

"Our situations are totally different."

"Yes, of course. Yes, they are. You're only eighteen."

"That's not what I mean. Your mother loved you."

Of all the things that might have come from Alexis's mouth, that was one she'd never have considered, and it almost brings her to her knees. She gathers herself again, looks right at the girl.

"She did. Yours does, too."

"In her way. But I've never been her top priority. Most of the time I'm not even in the top ten."

"Oh, that can't be true." If Meredith were in the room she'd smack her so hard she'd land on her siliconed ass in the middle of Broadway.

"It is. I've accepted it. But I've always known that I'm number one in my father's life."

She puts her hand out, but she's too far away to touch Alexis. "Of course you are."

"Not any more."

TBC

 **A/N** This came from a prompt from Roadrunnerz, but it's a little too early in the story for me to reveal it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

What in God's name is Alexis talking about? "I don't understand. Of course you are. You always will be. There's nothing you could do that would ever diminish your father's love for you."

"He told me."

"What?"

"That I'm not number one."

No, this can't be. Not unless he's kept some terrible secret about some monstrous thing that his daughter has done. It's just not possible, especially since he's so depressed about Alexis keeping him at arm's length. She shakes her head, as if doing so would settle her confusion. "Wait, those were his exact words?"

"No, he told me that you were number one. His exact words were, 'Kate's everything'."

If Beckett didn't trust her highly trained Detective's eyes, she'd swear on a Bible that she's not in a warm dorm room, but outside on a barren stretch of highway where she's just been hit by an 18-wheeler and left for dead. She can almost see the birds of prey circling, hear their wings beating as they begin to descend. She has to make some kind of response. "I'm sure," she says weakly, "I'm sure that he didn't intend it the way it sounded, or the way you interpreted it. He—"

"Oh, it was very clear. Everything means everything."

"But—"

Leaving the partially wrapped, uneaten cake on top of a folded throw, Alexis stands up from the bed, and drops the empty paper cup in the wastebasket. "Thank you for the chai. And cake. Sorry to rush you, but I've got mid-terms for molecular biology and Spanish on Monday, and I'm on a really tight study schedule."

Beckett can scarcely gather her coat and bag, let alone her wits, but she gets up from the chair. She wants to hug Alexis, whose arms are folded tight across her chest, but she's not at all sure how the girl will react. Instead, she reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. "This will all work out."

Alexis doesn't acknowledge the gesture, just walks the few steps to her door and opens it. "Okay. Have a nice evening."

"You, too. Don't work too hard." The door closes softly on "hard." She takes the stairs with the hope that she's less likely to see someone there than she is in the elevator. Good, not a soul. She gets to the ground floor, pushes the button in the jamb to release the door, and bursts into the cool autumn air. Breathing shallowly, she's grateful that it's already dark as she makes her way unsteadily to her car.

Her hands are shaking, and she decides to wait a while before turning the key in the ignition. For a moment she presses her forehead against the steering wheel. What the hell, what the living hell—which is what she's plunging into—is she going to do? She can't drive back to the loft and have a conversation with Castle. She could, she should, but not now. Not while every nerve in her body has shot through the dermis and is about to shove through the epidermis, leaving her even rawer than she is right now. What is she going to say to him? What had he said to Alexis? He can't have said only, "Kate is everything." There had to have been modifiers. And context, she needs context. Alexis said he was very clear, but. Oh, God.

It's time to go home.

Forty minutes later she's back in her own apartment, where she takes off her boots and hangs up her coat. It was probably foolish of her not to have picked up something for dinner, especially since she hadn't had any lunch, but she has no appetite. She should put something in her stomach, but she's so seldom here now that there's almost nothing to eat. A search of the cupboards yields only one real possibility—a third of a jar of dry-roasted peanuts. They'll do. They're legumes. They have protein, and protein might kick her brain into gear. She unscrews the lid, taps two nuts into her open palm, and slowly chews them. Leaving the jar on the kitchen counter, she goes to the living room and sits down in her favorite chair, going over and over her brief conversation with Alexis, looking at it upside down and inside out, picking it apart and stitching it back together. She makes a mess of it; it's full of knots.

She needs a drink, and something more than the wine she's supposedly having with Lanie. Castle hasn't turned her into a Scotch aficionado, but he has made her an appreciator of really good single malt, and given her a couple of bottles of his favorites. After pouring herself a generous measure, she returns to her chair. She doesn't want to be a participant in The Battle for No. 1. She isn't. It's insane. There can be no battle. The farther down the tumbler she goes, though, the more anxious she gets. Maybe she should turn on some more lights. Maybe she should have another drink. She says yes to both, and shortly afterwards her phone pings.

 _Have you and Lanie fallen into a vat of Cabernet Sauvignon, or what? Should I come rescue you?_

Shit, what time is it? She checks the phone again. It's already nine? 9:07, to be precise, and she's craving precision at the moment.

 _Sorry, didn't realize it was so late. Wasn't feeling well so came home early. Talk tomorrow. xo_

The response is, of course, immediate. She should have thought first before she'd texted back.

 _What do you need?_

She hasn't got a grip on the Alexis situation, but she can get a grip on this.

 _Nothing, thanks. I'll be fine once I've had some sleep. Night, Castle. xo_

Maybe she'll turn that fib into the truth and go to bed. Try to sleep. She will as soon as she finishes this Scotch, which is the only thing that's going down easy at the moment. Everything else is sticking in her throat and threatening to strangle her. She'd eat another peanut, but it would probably lodge there, too.

She's holding the glass in her hand, looking at the last bit of amber in the bottom, when her head snaps up. That can't be his voice, can it?

"Beckett?"

It is. "Castle?"

"You're not in bed yet? I've brought everything you might need, depending on the reason why you're not not up to snuff." He hoists a shopping bag to the counter. "Coca-Cola to settle your stomach; chicken soup, crackers, and bread to toast in case your stomach is fine but you're getting a cold; emergency vitamins for a ton of things; three kinds of pain relievers, and the best over-the-counter sleeping pill. Oh, and a heating pad and four sizes of ice packs. Tell me where you hurt."

In my heart, Castle, she answers silently. In my heart, but I can't tell you that. "You came over."

"Of course I came over. It's my job to look after you."

No, it's your job to look after your daughter. "That's really sweet, but I don't need looking after."

"Says you." It's not until he unloads the bag that he spots the jar of nuts and the bottle of Scotch, and he whips his head towards her. She has a glass in her hand. "Beckett? Are you drinking?" He picks up the peanuts. "And is this your dinner? Unless you had a meal after I left work today, I hope the answer's no."

Even from here, she can see that he looks worried. "I broke out the good stuff, Castle."

"You talking about the booze or the nuts?"

"Both." Oh, good, let's keep this light. Light, light.

But in a matter of seconds he's leaning over her, his hands cupping her shoulders. He's so close, and he smells so good, and he's wearing that new red sweater that she loves so much, especially when his cheeks are red from the cold, as they are right now. "Kate. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Wrong answer."

If she looks him in the eyes, her own will fill up, and she can't deal with that. Not until she works out how to talk to him. Instead, she looks down. "Just some stuff I need to figure out. Don't worry about it."

Her two deflective sentences are still caroming off the walls when he scoops her up and carries her to the sofa. He sets her down, sits next to her, and cocoons her left hand in his right. "I do worry about it. For starters, I worry when you're drinking alone on an empty stomach." He puts his other hand up, palm out. "And don't tell me that you've eaten, because I can tell that you haven't."

"Peanuts," she whispers.

"Peanuts?" His eyebrows shoot up. "The last time I was over here I had a lot of peanuts, and that jar doesn't look any emptier now than it did when I put it back in the cupboard. About ten days ago, right?"

"You win. But I did eat some. Really. I promise."

He moves his face just inches from hers and stares.

"Okay, two. I ate two."

"That does it," he says flatly, and gets up. "I'm heating that soup and we're going to eat it. And when we're done you can explain 'stuff' to me. We're sharing stuff now, remember?"

While Castle's in the kitchen, rattling pots and pans, china and silverware, she's frantically trying to come up with what to say and how to say it. She needs time. The million-dollar, or whatever it was, Scotch isn't sharpening her focus at all. Maybe the soup will, if she can choke it down.

"C'mon, Kate. Supper's ready," he calls as he sets bowls on the table.

She has just enough strength to get there and pick up a spoon. "This is delicious," she says. "Where did you get it?" Maybe that will set him off on the virtues of the market he'd just visited, which will buy her some time.

"Home. I made it this afternoon. Something must have told me that you were going to get sick."

If God is kind, He'll make Castle think that her cheeks are pink because she's eating hot, homemade soup, not because she's blushing in shame for lying to him. "Thanks for bringing it."

"Have some toast, too," he urges her, pushing a plate of it towards her. "You need it."

If only she can inject some lightness before the dark. She takes a bite and smiles at him. "Mmm, good. But if you tell me you churned this butter I'll feel totally inadequate."

"You're way more than adequate. And no, the butter came from the supermarket."

She finishes the bowl but says, honestly, that she has no room for seconds.

"No room for coffee?"

"That's different. I always have room for coffee."

"Well, good, because I'd be rushing you to the ER if you'd turned that down."

He's trying so hard, which only makes her feel worse. It must show, because when he passes the mug to her he says, "So. You going to tell me what's going on?"

As she passes her hands over her face, she feels rubbed raw and dead at the same time. "Don't you ever worry about us?"

"Why would I worry about us?"

"About us lasting."

"Whoa, you're not sliding back into the thing about the secret office romance always imploding, are you?" He puts his coffee down. "I thought we settled that ages ago. Besides, everyone at work but Gates knows about us. And if she finds out, we'll work something out."

"I don't mean that."

"Then what do you mean?"

"What's the longest time you've ever been with anyone, Castle?"

"Kate, you're not like anyone else, you know that."

"I know you think that now, but I'm just different because I'm a cop. I'm surprised the novelty hasn't worn off yet."

"Never gonna happen."

"But there are other things, Castle."

"Like what? What's sent you down this awful path, anyway?"

"You're such a happy person, you know?"

"Yeah. Basically. So?"

She hadn't intended to bring Alexis up, had wanted to leave her out of it entirely for the moment, but she feels as if there's an opening, and she wants to take it. Horrified as she is that she seems to have come between Castle and his daughter, she can't understand why or how he'd have said what he had to her. "You won't talk about it, but I can see how unhappy you are about whatever is wrong with Alexis. You should try and spend some time with her, Castle. Maybe she's feeling left out."

He shrugs and doesn't quite succeed in hiding a wince. "She doesn't act like she's feeling left out. Doesn't want to talk with me most of the time."

"You're the most dogged person I know. Why don't you keep after her? Figure it out. You'd be happier and I'm sure she would be, too." She squeezes her eyes shut, contracts all her muscles. "You need to be happy, Castle. That's who you are. I'm not like that. I worry about dragging you down. I worry that you'll have to spend all your energy trying to drag me up, and buoy me up. And it will be too much, and that will be the end."

TBC

 **A/N** Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites, especially as this story is quite different from the ones I usually tackle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

When Kate had been shot, 549 days ago—he knows exactly how long it has been, and wonders if he will ever stop counting—he'd experienced everything in slow motion. He'd noticed the sun glancing off the barrel of the sniper's rifle and seen her spasm at the impact of the bullet. He'd knocked her to the ground and watched the blood ooze from her body, cradled her in his arms while her eyes had flickered shut. He'd read later that when you suffer a trauma like that, when you're suddenly faced with terror, everything seems to happen at half-speed. It's because the part of your brain that's responding to fear is highly active, storing so many memories that time appears to slow to accommodate them.

That's what's happening now. Her words are slicing into him like a knife, but they're also stretching out like warm tar. "It willllll beeee tooooo muccchhh, and that willlll beeee the ennnddddd." Too much? No. The end? No. Why is she talking like this?

"Kate," he says, rushing to her side of the table and folding her in a hug. "Kate, Kate, Kate. You will never drag me down so far that I can't bring you back up. Buoy you up. If I have to be your metaphorical life jacket once in a while, that's fine with me."

That's what brings on the tears, and she weeps against his chest. He rocks her the way he used to rock Alexis, and kisses her hair.

Finally she has enough control to speak, her breath soft on his skin. "I can't have you unhappy, Castle."

"I'm not unhappy."

"You are. Over not seeing Alexis."

"I'll get over it, Kate. It's not your problem."

"Maybe it is. Maybe it's my fault."

He draws back so that he can see her properly. "That's ridiculous."

"Not."

"How could it possibly be your fault?"

"I'm around all the time. With you. Work, home." She swallows hard. "Maybe she's a little threatened."

"You know what I think? I think that you're exhausted and had too much to drink and are worrying way too much."

"But—"

"No buts. I also think you need some ice cream."

"That's what you say to Alexis when she's upset."

"True, but it's also what I say to myself when I'm upset."

She directs her eyes to the third button of his shirt, which is peeking out from the vee of his sweater. "Don't have any ice cream, Castle."

"That's what you think. I came here for every eventuality, you know. Like sickness brought on by ice-cream deficiency. I put a quart of Swiss almond vanilla in your freezer an hour ago."

She's too tired to argue or talk any more. " 'kay. Sounds good."

"Atta girl. I'll get us each a bowl."

"Don't make my helping the size of my head, Castle."

"Right, right," he answers over his shoulder as he retrieves the ice cream.

"And no accoutrements."

"Accoutrements?"

"You know. Whipped cream, dried cherries, cookie crumbs, marshmallow fluff, sardines."

"I put sardines on only one time," he insists, holding up his index finger. "One time. And only because you kept singing 'Bigger Fish to Fry' when we'ed been in that awful Country-Western bar that night."

"Fine. But leave my ice cream unadulterated this time, please."

"Okay, but you'll be jealous when you see mine."

Oh, shit, why did he have to say jealous? She's not jealous, but Alexis is.

"You look like you need to be somewhere comfier," he says, holding their dessert. "Let's eat on the sofa."

Once they're both sitting she looks dubiously at his dessert. "What's that acid-green river around your ice cream?"

He takes a large spoonful, eats it, and smacks his lips. "Crème de menthe."

"You must be kidding."

"Nope. I found the bottle on the top shelf of your cupboard. It might have belonged to the previous occupant, since it doesn't seem like your style. But the alcohol, you know? I figured it was still safe to use. And the mint goes with the chocolate. It's surprisingly good."

"Sometimes I wonder about your digestive system."

"Titanium," he says, slapping his stomach.

"Mmhmm."

He's chasing the last chocolate-covered almond around the bottom of the bowl when he feels her slump against his shoulder. She's sound asleep. Very carefully he places his bowl on the coffee table before wrapping his arm around her. Maybe he shouldn't have changed the subject. Maybe he should have let her talk it out. Something is obviously deeply upsetting her, but he couldn't stand seeing her cry. Is it old insecurities? Maybe. A little. But she also seems concerned that Alexis is what, jealous? Jealous of her? It's crazy. Alexis is 18. Almost an adult. In many ways she already is an adult. Old enough to vote, which she has done. Old enough to enlist in the Army, which, fortunately, she hasn't done. He sits for a long time, letting his mind wander, and eventually gives Kate a little shake.

"Beckett? Kate? Want to go to bed?"

When she doesn't answer or even move, he stretches her out on the sofa before walking to her bedroom to get a quilt. He drapes it over her, and kisses her on the cheekbone. After loading her dishwasher and wiping the counters, he checks on her again. Since she hasn't stirred he gets a pad of paper and pen from her desk, writes her a short note, and props it up on the coffee table. Then he tiptoes to the door, fetches his coat, turns off the lights, and leaves.

The light makes her squint. How can it be sunny in here when it's the middle of the night? She closes her eyes again and runs her tongue across her teeth. A platoon from the Crimean War is apparently marching around in her mouth, and somewhere in the back of her skull a drill sergeant is shouting orders. She groans and opens one eye. Oh. She's on the sofa, and it's not the middle of the night, after all. She pulls her left hand out from under her head and checks her watch. 7:20. Presumably a.m., since it's daylight. Still face down, she looks at the coffee table next to her, and sees a piece of paper with the handwriting that often makes her weak-kneed. "Good thing I'm not standing up," she mumbles as she reaches for the note.

 _Dear Sleeping Beauty,_

 _I guess I'm not Prince Charming since I couldn't wake you, so I covered you with a poor substitute for an ermine robe and went home. One of my mother's old summer-stock friends is in town from Cleveland, and I'm taking them to brunch. See you in the afternoon? I'll be more than desperate for your company by then._

 _xo Castle_

She sits up and puts her head in her hands. Since she's in need of coffee, very strong coffee, in large quantities, she forces herself to move to the kitchen and get a pot going. While the coffee's brewing, she stands in the full force of her shower. "I need to make a plan," she says while bubbles of shampoo run down her back. "I really, really need a plan."

An hour and two mugs of coffee later she's still in her robe, but she does have a plan. She texts Gates and asks if it would be all right to call her about something that's both personal and work-related. She and the Captain are getting along better, each having growing—if not always expressed—respect for the other, and Kate's pleased when her phone rings almost immediately.

"Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Detective. I hope nothing's wrong."

"No, sir. It's. Well, I need to take a little time off, if possible. I have twelve days coming, but I just need a week."

"I don't want to pry, but you're not ill, are you?"

Not unless you count sick at heart, she thinks. "No, but I need to get away for a bit."

"Uh-huh. And when did you want to get away?"

"Monday, Sir. I'd be back the following Monday."

"Just a moment."

She hears rustling, as if Gates were looking through a notebook, which might well be the case.

"I've checked the rosters, Beckett, and think we can do without you for a week." She pauses. "And what about your...partner?"

"My partner?"

"Mister Castle. Will he be getting away?"

Oh, fuck, does she _know_ about them? "No, sir, definitely not. This is about me. Me taking time off. I'm sure he'll still come in. To work. At the precinct."

"Uh huh."

"I'm sure he's available to help Ryan and Esposito." She clears her throat. "One other thing, Captain Gates? I wonder if we could keep this between you and me? I know the guys will ask, but if you could just say I've gone on vacation for a week I'd really appreciate it."

There's another pause before Gates speaks again. "That's not a problem."

"Thank you, sir."

"And Kate? Take care of yourself."

The Captain ends the call before she can thank her, though not before she notices, with considerable surprise, that Gates had called her by her first name. She stands still for a minute, then puts her mug in the dishwasher, washes out the coffeepot, and turns to her bedroom to get dressed.

A lot of her clothes, books, and bits of paraphernalia—an umbrella, some jewelry, an embroidered pillow—have somehow migrated to Castle's loft, but she still has a lot of things here in her apartment. She rolls a suitcase from the closet and packs it quickly with warm, casual clothes. From her safe in the same closet she takes an envelope of cash and a burner phone, as well as a credit card and a driver's license with her photo but issued to one Caroline Hill, DOB 05/16/79. She'd set up a secret, alternate identity as a precaution three months after she'd been shot, and chosen the day of the shooting, May 16, as Caroline's birthday.

With her bag packed and the apartment straightened up, she has only two things left to do. First, she turns on her new phone, and goes online for a quarter of an hour. Second, she sits at her desk, writes a short letter on her pale blue stationery and tucks into her purse. At the door she takes one slow look around, goes downstairs, and hails a cab.

"LaGuardia, please," she says to the driver, "but I have to stop for a moment at the corner of Crosby and Broome to drop something off. Would you wait for me?"

"Sure."

It's still early enough that the hordes of SoHo shoppers haven't descended, and they make good time. The cab pulls up outside Castle's building, and she ducks in. "Good morning, Stanley," she says to the doorman.

"Good morning."

"This is for Rick," she says, handing him the envelope. "He's taking his mother out to brunch and if you could give it to him when he comes back, not now, that would be great."

"Will do. My pleasure."

"Thanks a million. I gotta run. Have a good day."

"You, too, Detective."

When she's back in the taxi, she shuts her eyes, willing herself not to look back.

Castle ushers his mother and her friend, Sally, into the buzzing restaurant on Prince Street. He hadn't been looking forward to brunch, but in fact it's hilarious. Once they've ordered, he just sits back and revels in two old pros swapping tales of the theater—and in his mother's case, at least, probably every outlandish word is true. He'd happily have paid twice what he does, and it isn't cheap. Martha and Sally are going to a matinee, so he has his car service drive them there and he chooses to walk home. It's a dull November day, but the air feels good. He slips the phone out of his pocket and calls Kate, but gets her voicemail.

"I'm sprung," he says. "Call me back when you get this."

It's only another five or six minutes before he walks into his lobby, still without hearing from Kate, and the doorman hands him an envelope.

"Detective Beckett left this for you."

And suddenly he feels very, very cold. "Oh. Thank you. When was that? Just now?"

"No, I'd say, maybe ten? Around ten this morning? She asked me not to call up, to give it to you when you came back from your brunch."

"Fine, that's fine, Stanley. Thank you." He smiles until he's safely inside the elevator, and then he's not smiling at all. He's terrified. The envelope trembles a little in his grip, which is less a grip than a feeble pinching together of his thumb and finger.

Inside the quiet loft, he hangs up his coat and walks to his office, dropping heavily into his chair. His silent phone is in his pocket, and the envelope remains unopened on top of his desk. He wonders if he looks at it long enough that it will burst into flames. It doesn't. Finally he picks it up and opens the flap. He races through it the first time, so relieved that it's not a Dear John letter that he hardly understands what else she has written. He flattens the paper carefully and reads it again, and then again.

 _Dear Castle,_

 _I'm sure that you'll think I'm a coward for writing instead of speaking to you in person, but I can't right now because I know that you'll try to talk me out of this. I'm going away for a little bit, by myself. Please don't come after me; I need you to stay here. I need you to spend time with Alexis and let her know that she's the most important thing in your life._

 _Please don't worry about me. All you need to know about me is that I love you._

 _Kate_

"What the hell?" he asks the empty room. "What the _hell_?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

The scenery is totally unlike that of New York, which she'd left only yesterday, but what strikes her most about northern New Mexico is the air. The temperature is the same as it is at home, but the crispness and cleanness are astonishing. Every time she takes a deep breath she feels almost drunk, but also clear-headed. It's exactly what she needs.

She'd flown into Albuquerque, headed immediately for the motorcycle rental place, and two hours later had settled into a motel north of Santa Fe. This morning she'd woken at four—6:00 by her body clock—and talked herself into going back to sleep. By the time she'd showered, dressed, and picked up a cup of coffee, it had been 9:00. She's been riding for four hours through wildly varying landscapes, from high desert where scrubby, green piñon stands out against red rocks, to what looks and feels like the Alps, complete with towering pines. When she comes to a lush meadow in the bottom of an enormous caldera, she parks her bike and walks a mile or so. She's watching cows graze when the sound of a stream somewhere to the west reminds her that she's both thirsty and hungry.

Back on her Harley-for-a-week, she rounds yet another bend in the sinuous two-lane blacktop and comes on a tiny town. There's a scattering of houses, a church, a post office, and, yes, a combination grocery store and diner. The outside is rough-hewn logs, the interior is varnished pine; there's a large pegboard on one wall where maybe 30 mugs are hanging, each with a hand-painted name on it. As she waits for the friendly, gray-haired woman behind the counter to make her turkey sandwich, she looks longingly at them, wishing that there were two, side by side, labeled CASTLE and BECKETT.

"Would you like chips? They come with it, no extra."

"That would be great—" she pauses to take in the woman's name tag, something she knows that Castle would do, "Michelle. Thank you."

"Just grab a bag from over there, by the freezer."

"Okay. And, coffee? Could I have a cup of coffee, too, please?"

"Sure thing. Where you from?"

"New York City."

"Ah. We don't get many people from New York. The road out here's not exactly the beaten path, you know what I mean?"

She laughs. "You should. It's beautiful."

"I saw you lookin' at the mugs."

Wow, some Detective she is. She hadn't noticed Michelle noticing her. "Oh. It's so nice. They're all people who come in a lot, I guess. The regulars?"

"Yup. See your name there?"

She shakes her head. "Sorry to say, no."

Michelle walks to the cash register, a small plastic basket filled with the sandwich and some butter pickles in one hand, and an empty mug in the other. She turns around and fills it from the pot behind her. "Here you go. This one says Friend, since we don't have one that says—?" She opens her eyes wide and tilts her head.

"Caroline. I'm Caroline." At least for now. It feels odd in her mouth.

"Caroline. I always liked that name. President Kennedy's little girl. I'll never forget her kneeling with her mother by her daddy's coffin and putting her hand under the flag. Just about broke me in two when I saw that, and I was only a teenager then."

"Thank you. What do I owe you?"

"You sure that's all you want to eat?"

Kate/Caroline looks at the basket. "It's a big sandwich, so I think that'll do me."

"You sure you don't want some pie? You look like you could do with some fattening up, don't mind me saying. And I don't like anyone leaving here hungry." She waits a minute, eyes fixed on her customer. "Apple. Made it myself, this morning. The apples are from the tree in my own yard."

"You talked me into it, Michelle."

"Good. Now sit over there in the sunny window and eat your lunch. I'll bring your pie later. When you clean your plate."

Halfway through her very good sandwich, she fishes her phone from her jacket pocket. There won't be any messages. Can't be. She's aching to call Castle, or at least text. He must have gotten her note more than 24 hours ago. Has he called Alexis? Taken her out yet? Made her dinner? He must be wondering where she is, but she prays that he's not trying to follow her. She's covered her tracks well. She wants him to concentrate on Alexis for the next few days not her. But he's probably called Lanie. Or the boys. Or maybe he's waiting until tomorrow, since it's Sunday now? She has a good ear, can hear his voice in her head, but it's not enough. She wants the real thing. And not just his voice.

She startles at the sound of Michelle, who's standing at her elbow.

"Those smart phones?" Michelle says, pointing. "Not smart enough to make a call all by themselves. Think you gotta push at least one button."

She knows she's blushing, and puts the phone down. "Right."

"You been strokin' that little screen like it's your boyfriend's—cheek. You want to call him, you can go out on the desk in the back. There's no one there but Shirley, and she won't tell anybody."

"Shirley?"

"The dog. I got Goodness and Mercy at home. The three of 'em follow me all the days of my life. That's how I named them."

She can't help laughing. "No, not calling. Not right now."

"You ready for the pie? Eat those last two bites of your sandwich and I'll bring it over. Gonna warm it up."

"Good. See? I'm eating."

By the time she licks the last trace element of pie from her fork and pays her bill, she's decided that she should begin her long trip back to the motel. It's November, and sun sets around 5:00. She doesn't want to be on a narrow mountain road, or on the interstate, in the dark. She thanks Michelle, compliments her honestly on the sensational pie, and goes out to her bike. While she's snapping on her helmet she sees the storeowner come to the door.

"Caroline?"

"Yes?"

"You come back soon. I'll have a mug with your name on it."

All she can do is nod and wave, because if she says a word she'll burst into tears. All the way back to the motel, she wonders if Castle has seen Alexis yet.

It's 6:00 Sunday evening in New York, and Castle's sitting in the dark in his office, thinking. He had barely slept last night. His bed without Kate in it felt like some moonscape: rocky, bleak, oxygen-less. Since she left he has drunk too much and eaten too little. Correction: he has eaten a good deal, but it has all been junk. Yesterday had been a write-off. After he'd read her note ten times, he'd shut himself in here and gotten drunker than he had in years. Today he's taken some action, with no yield. He's called, texted, and emailed her, into a void. This morning, sober and armed with a thermos of black coffee, he'd driven to her father's cabin in the remote hope that he'd find her there, but it was obvious that no one had visited in weeks. He's not calling Jim. Absolutely not. He had called Lanie, but she'd said that she didn't know where Kate had gone, or even that she had gone, and he believes her. She'd sounded genuinely surprised.

Kate had said that she'd be "away for a bit." How long is a bit, other than already too long? Gates must know. He'll go in tomorrow, as if it were the ordinary morning that it manifestly will not be, and ask, "Where's Beckett?" Do Esposito and Ryan know? He's tapping a pen against his teeth. No. They don't know. He'd bet a bundle that her decision to take off was spur-of-the-moment, and that she'd told no one. Maybe if he has a good dinner, minus alcohol, he'll be able to think. Reason. Whatever. "Every one of us is in the dark," he says, before getting up and going to the kitchen.

There's a big container of homemade beef stew in the freezer, and he pulls it out and puts it in the microwave. While it's warming, he makes a green salad and sets the table for one. "There's no need to abandon civility," he says as he puts a folded napkin on the place mat. As he makes his way through dinner, he goes over her note again, this time with a proper thought process. "You're not a Detective, but you can damn well detect," he tells his reflection in the window. "Start doing it."

He breaks the note apart as if it were a case, mentally cataloguing every single item. She'd asked him to do three things. Three things with subsets.

One: Don't come after her, stay here. He'd sort of done that. At least he hadn't asked anyone to search airline records, though he'd come close. Ditto, credit-card use. And phone tracking.

Two: Spend time with Alexis and let her know that she's the most important thing in his life. He's tried to get in touch with his daughter multiple times and in multiple ways, but his success rate is zero there, too.

Three: Don't worry about Kate, but do know that she loves him. Not worry about her? Is she crazy? He's on the verge of making an appointment with Doctor Burke for himself. That's how crazed he is. But know that she loves him? He does. In spite of everything, he does know that. He just doesn't understand what she's doing.

It's the last piece of succulent, gravy-covered carrot that fuels the breakthrough. Two. It's two. The middle thing. The heart of the note in every way. Why had this not occurred to him before? It all hinges on Alexis, what Alexis thinks. Or what Kate thinks Alexis thinks. Or both. Probably both. Could she be right? Is Alexis feeling left out, or overshadowed by Kate? It's nuts. Still, Kate isn't one for acting only on feelings, God knows. Just the opposite. She's a fact-gatherer, an evidence hound. Does she have some evidence? Has Alexis talked to her about this? If she did, why didn't Kate tell him? Because. Because why? He can't ask her, but he can sure as hell ask his daughter.

Even though he's not prying, he's still a father, an extremely involved father. He runs to his office and turns on his laptop. There it is, her class schedule. Tomorrow, Monday, she has molecular biology and Spanish. In one of their brief conversations last week she'd told him that she has important tests for both of them that day. He knows what to do now, and please, God, let it work. Exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally, he goes to bed. He sets his alarm for 7:00, and the last thing he does is text, email, and call Kate. Every message is the same.

 _"_ _I love you. Please come home soon."_

He'd altered his original plan, which was to go into the precinct as if he were unaware that Kate was away. He's in a tricky situation: Gates doesn't know that he and Kate are together, but the boys do. They'll see right through him if he pretends that he doesn't know that Kate's gone somewhere. Surely the Captain will have to tell Esposito and Ryan something, and he wants to know what something is. But what if she has a meeting and doesn't tell the guys first thing? He decides not to go in at the beginning of their shift.

It's a little after 9:00 when he strolls into the bullpen, carrying a wax-paper bag of pastries and two cups of coffee, just as if Kate where here. He can see Gates in the distance, head bent over her desk, and, in the foreground, Ryan and Espo at theirs.

"Morning, guys," he says as he approaches. "I brought breakfast. Want to join me in the break room for a minute?"

Both men look surprised to see him, and they rise as one to follow him. Once inside, Espo speaks first. "Bro, you're not with Beckett?"

"No," he says, pushing the bag towards his friends. "Did Gates talk to you?"

"Yeah," Ryan answers. "She did. What gives? You and Beckett didn't have a fight, did you?"

"No, nothing like that. She just said she needed a little time off, all by herself. I just want to know how much time. I'm lonely. But you know how she is. Close to the vest."

"Tell us about it," Espo says.

"I figured she had to have talked to the boss, get the time off, right?"

"She said mppf." Ryan coughs. "Sorry. Powdered sugar. Anyway, Gates said Beckett's taking a week vacation, back on Monday."

"We asked where she'd gone but all we got was the eye, you know?" Espo rubs his hand over his cheek. "That woman could seriously burn your skin with one of those looks."

Castle smiles. "Beckett's got one, too. Not in Gates's league, though."

"Hey, Castle?" Ryan leans in and lowers his voice. "It's probably good that you came in. Throws Gates off the trail, in case she's suspicious about you and Beckett."

"Good point." Excellent point, and one he'd not thought of. "Maybe I'll hang around for a while, then."

"We got no case right now," Espo says. "She'd probably be a lot more suspicious if you hung around for paper work."

"Also a good point." He stops for a moment. "I know what to do. Let's all go back."

The three traipse back out and Castle waves. "See you later, guys. I'm leaving Beckett's coffee on her desk in case she misses us all so much that she decides to cut her vacation short. Let me know when there's a new murder to solve."

"You always sound so happy when you say 'murder'," Ryan calls out.

"Made a fortune on it." He waves again and makes the half turn to the elevator.

"Later, dude," Espo says, and nods.

Later, later, later. It's his temporary mantra. He's got almost three hours to kill before he drives uptown, so he goes home and plays some mind-numbing online game until it's time to go.

Being a highly involved single parent—single parent in virtually every way except name—has its pros and cons. One of the former is that he knows every one of his daughter's habits, quirks, patterns, and tells. She almost certainly doesn't know that he knows, and he's keeping it that way as long as he can. He parks north of the campus, so there's no chance that she'll see his car, and walks to her dorm. He figures he's got 20 to 30 minutes before she shows up, and he steps into the small, slightly grubby lobby. He counts to 174 before someone comes out; he smiles and grabs the door.

"Going to see my daughter," he says cheerily, holding up a plastic shopping bag. "Got her exam treats."

"Right," says the young man on his way out, looking at Castle as if he were an alien life form.

He takes the elevator to the fifth floor, and leans on the wall outside her door. The elevator descends and ascends a few times while he's waiting; twelve minutes after he arrived Alexis gets out. Her head's down so she doesn't see him until she almost collides with him.

"Dad!"

"Hi, Sweetheart," he says, giving her a hug. "I've got a bottle of milk and a huge package of Double Stuf Oreos, your post-exam treat of eternal choice."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'd have thought the contents of the bag alone would explain it." He's keeping his tone very light. "But maybe you're still thinking in Spanish, in post-test mode, and didn't understand me. I'm here to celebrate your finishing two big exams, which I'm sure you aced, in your first semester of college. And even if you sank to an A minus, this could be consolation." He points to the door. "Let's go in, shall we?"

He notices that she can't quite steady her shaking hand when she turns the key in the lock. He'd debated whether to make small talk for a while—if she'd even participate in small talk—or get straight to the point. He opts for the latter, but gets the snack out first.

"I see your room is just as tidy as it is at home," he says, dropping his coat over the back of a chair before opening the bottle and pouring the milk into the two plastic cups that he'd brought with him. "Columbia should photograph it. Put it in the Model Student Guide."

His daughter is still standing in the middle of the room.

"Alexis," he says firmly, "take your coat off, sit down, and have a cookie."

Mutely, she does as she's told.

"Kate's gone."

She looks even paler than the milk she's holding. "What?"

Very calmly, but pinning her with his gaze, he repeats. "Kate's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that she's gone off by herself, without me, for a while. And she left me a note with some very strict instructions. The most important one was that, quote, you spend time with Alexis and let her know that she's the most important thing in your life. End quote. Do you know anything about that?"

TBC

 **A/N** Thank you so much for your support for this story. To those reviewers who politely disagree with what I'm doing, thank you very much, too. I appreciate that! As Castle said when he set the table for one, "There's no need to abandon civility." Hope you all have a good weekend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Alexis stares into her glass of milk as if it were poison that she's considering drinking, but she doesn't answer her father's question.

His tone is a little sharp. "Alexis?" He waits a full minute before speaking again, this time softly. "I can't imagine any circumstance that would make you doubt your importance in my life, but apparently Kate can. So, does she know something I don't?" He's listening intently, and thinks that his daughter has made some tiny sound, but it's not loud enough for him to identify. Distress? Anger? Sadness? What? It's hard to read her face because she's looking down. He has to press on. Press her.

"For the last couple of weeks you've barely spoken to me. If I've done something that hurt you, I apologize, deeply, deeply apologize. But I have no idea what it is, and believe me, I've spent days—sometimes almost entire days—trying to figure it out."

Her nose is almost in the milk, but her eyes are closed, which doesn't seem encouraging. He thought he'd been direct enough, but maybe not. He briefly closes his own eyes, and suppresses the sigh that's trying to escape.

"Did you speak to Kate about something? Or did she speak to you? She and I have had a lot of trouble communicating in the past, as you're well aware, and we've been working on changing that. But you and I? We've always been totally aboveboard with each other, haven't we?"

He sees her open her eyes, but move them to the left, so that she's not looking at him.

"Haven't we, Alexis? And now, all of a sudden, you clam up. Worse, you're not just silent, you're brusque. I can't make amends for something I don't know about. Is it so awful that you can't tell me to my face?" He's angry now, and sad and confused and hurt. "What if I leave the room and you text me? Because I've just about had it." Now he really does sigh. "I wanted to leave Kate out of this, but I can't. You know what she told me?"

Finally, her round, blue eyes turn to him. Finally, he has her attention. Wary, defiant, silent attention, but attention, nonetheless.

"She says that she can't bear me being unhappy, and that I'm unhappy over the two of us." He moves his hand back and forth in the small room's cold, electric atmosphere. The six-foot space between them is a bottomless chasm. "You and me. That you're distant and I can't draw you back. I told her that wasn't her problem. And she said—" his voice catches. "She said that maybe it was her fault. That you felt left out because she's around all the time. She's afraid that you feel threatened. She cried over this, Alexis. Sobbed. I told her that she was exhausted and worrying too much. We had some ice cream and she fell asleep. In her own apartment, by the way. She'd gone there because she's so upset about this, eaten up by guilt that's incomprehensible to me. When she fell asleep I put a quilt over her and left. And that was the last time I saw her. Because the next morning, Saturday morning, she left a note—the note I told you about—with the doorman that she was going away for a while. Her phone is off. I have no idea where she is. None. Do you? Do you?"

"No, Dad."

"You don't know where she is?"

"No."

"Okay. But the much more important question, the crucial one, is: why does Kate think this? I'm a where-there's-smoke-there's-fire guy, and much as it almost kills me to say it, I have to assume that she has something concrete, some chunk or shred of evidence that led her to that conclusion. And using every ounce of my deductive reasoning powers, I've concluded that you said something to her. Did you?"

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay. Yes, I did."

His complexion is nothing like Alexis's, but when she says that he is instantly as pale as she. "What?" It's almost a whisper. "What did you say to her?"

"It's you, Dad. You're the one who said it."

He can't have heard her right, can he? "I said it? What?"

"You said she was everything to you. And I told her."

He wishes he had a drink. A very, very strong drink and an open window so that he could take in as much fresh air as there is in Manhattan. "Alexis. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Maybe because she'd held in so much for so long, or maybe because she's face-to-face with him, or maybe both, she lets it go. All of it.

"You were in Washington. I was at the loft to get a couple of things and remembered that I needed stamps, so I went to your office. And there was your journal or whatever it is, open on your desk. I swear I thought it was notes for your next book and I haven't read any of those in forever, so I sat down and started."

"My journal?" The color is back in his face. "You read my journal? That's private. No one reads that."

"Not even Kate?"

 _Kate_. It sounds like a detonation.

"Not even Kate. I can't believe you did that."

"I didn't mean to, Dad, remember? I thought it was notes for your book. And then Kate's name jumped out at me and I couldn't stop. Were you hiding your feelings away from me? So I wouldn't know? Right there you wrote, 'I never thought it was possible to love someone the way I love Kate. Everything. It's everything.' What does that make me? If she's everything, what am I?" She thumps her fist against her ribs, just below her collarbone. "What am I?"

He feels like a human chemistry experiment, his blood fizzing and his synapses firing so fast that he wonders if he'll literally explode. " _That's_ what this is about? What I wrote about loving Kate? Alexis, you're an adult. You've been an adult since you were about seven years old. Surely you understand that the love I have for Kate has nothing, I mean nothing, to do with the love I have for you. You are my child. My adult child, but my child. I couldn't possibly love you any more than I do or will, for the rest of my life. I am the luckiest man on Earth to have you for a daughter."

This time the sigh escapes, and he shakes his head. "But romantic love? That's a whole other thing. I hadn't had luck with that, not real, honest-to-God love, until Kate. I'd almost given up on it. And then it happened." He shoves his hands into his hair, and holds on. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

He looks at his feet because he doesn't want to look at her. The package of Double Stuf Oreos, the cookies his daughter has unwaveringly loved since she was in nursery school, is on the floor. He's irrationally enraged with Nabisco for choosing to drop the second F in Stuff, and it makes him want to drop kick the fucking cookies into the Hudson River. Even in his state he's able to recognize misplaced anger, and he looks up, hard, at Alexis.

"What exactly did you tell Kate? Because if you told her what you told me, what was in my journal, she'd have had the same reaction that I did. And said pretty much what I just said to you. She'd have told me, too. I don't think she'd have spent hours crying, or disappeared. And when the hell did you talk to her, anyway?"

"I was hurt, Dad, don't you get it?" Her eyes are fiery now. "Kate has broken your heart about ten times, but you still wrote that."

"Just tell me what you said to her, Alexis. I think you owe me that, don't you?"

Her tone has changed; her voice is dull. "She came over on Friday, after my classes. I didn't know she was coming. She said she thought I was punishing you for something she'd done and that it must be hard, even at my age, to accept that my father has a girlfriend. I told her that was ridiculous, since you've had a million. And then I said that I've never been a high priority in Mom's life but that I always knew that I was number one in yours. But that I wasn't anymore." Her shoulders move up an inch, in a small shrug. "I said that you told me that she was number one now. That you told me 'Kate is everything'."

"You told her that I _said_ that to you?"

"It felt like you said it to me. I told you. I was hurt."

He stands up, and gets his coat from the back of the chair. "I'm sorry that you were hurt. I am. But you should have talked to me. I haven't been angry with you very often, but I am now. I love you, but I'm angry and I'm disappointed. You acted like a petulant ten-year-old, and you were deceitful. You lied. Do you understand what you did? Kate cares about you so much that she jeopardized her relationship with me for you. She could have thrown you under the bus. And right now? I wouldn't blame her if she had." He strides out the door, bypasses the elevator for the stairs, and doesn't stop walking until he reaches his car. Before he starts the engine, he calls Kate and leaves her a voicemail, a text, and an email. The messages are identical triplets, delivered desperately.

 _I've seen Alexis. Please call me. It's urgent. Please, Kate. I love you._

When Kate had gotten back to her motel after her long motorcycle ride on Sunday, she'd walked around the corner to a small Mexican restaurant. She'd about Castle throughout her dinner, green chile stew and a Corona. He likes his creature comforts, but he'd love it here. Maybe they could come back together. She'd itched to call him, but resisted. She'd been gone less than two days.

Castle is still on her mind when she wakes up Monday morning, takes a shower and brushes her teeth and goes back to the little Mexican place for huevos rancheros and coffee that has even more punch than the eggs. She keeps returning mentally to lunch yesterday, to the atmosphere and to Michelle. And she has an idea. She uses her phone to find a kitchen store in Santa Fe, then thanks her waiter, pays the bill, and gets on her bike.

It's not long after 10:00 when she puts her carefully-wrapped purchase in the Harley's saddle bag. Today she's taking the most direct route possible to Michelle's store. It's not as picturesque as yesterday's, but now she's more interested in time than in landscape. She wants to beat the lunch rush—as much of a rush as there can be in a town that size—and she does. When she walks in, there's a man buying a few groceries; when he's through, she's alone with Michelle.

"Caroline!" Michelle greets her with a grin. "Back so soon? Couldn't resist my pie, huh?"

"Guess not, even this early."

"Hey, I grew up on a ranch. My dad and all the hands had pie for breakfast."

"Sounds like my boyfriend, although he's more dude-ranch material. He'd use any excuse to eat pie for breakfast." She holds up a shopping bag from the Santa Fe kitchen store. "He's the reason I brought this. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure do. You want some coffee? I was going to have a cup before the lunch bunch storms in here."

"Yes, please."

"Don't suppose I could interest you in some pumpkin pie?"

"Did you make it?"

Michelle looks horrified at the unvoiced suggestion that she might not have. "Of course I did."

"I suppose you grew the pumpkin?"

Another look of indignation. "Yup. Pumpkin patch behind my house. And the eggs are from my chickens. Now sit down and I'll be right over."

Michelle returns in a moment with two mugs (BOSS LADY and FRIEND), and a slice of pie. "What's in the box?"

She opens it and unrolls the bubble wrap that's swaddling two plain white mugs. "I figure you're the one who paints the names on all the mugs? I saw the jug next to the cash register, with a brush and the little jars of modeling paint."

"Good eye, Caroline. You could be a detective."

She's grateful that she has no pie in her mouth at the moment. She'd either have choked or sent the bite flying across the room. "Mm. I was wondering if you'd be willing to put names on these? Mine and my boyfriend's. I'd pay you for your time. It would be a great souvenir of my trip, maybe persuade him to come with me next time."

Michelle pushes herself up from the red seat of the metal slat-back chai. "Hang on a sec." She comes back armed with the jug, two brushes, and the paints. "Pass me those mugs, please. And I'm not taking your money. I can do this in four minutes, tops. Caroline, spelled just like it sounds? And what's his?"

"Oh, no. It probably sounds weird, but we call each other by our last names. Beckett. B-E-C-K-E-T-T and Castle. Like the building. I can't walk into a store and find mugs with that painted on them."

"You know," she says with a discernible twinkle as she paints a grass-green B, "I got more mugs in the shed. I could make another pair to keep here for you."

"Really?"

"Really." She moves on to the first E in BECKETT.

"That's so sweet. You don't even know me."

Michelle swiftly paints the C and looks up at her. "Oh, I do. I'm a pretty good judge of character. Like a lot of bartenders, minus the booze." She dips the brush into the jar. "You're smart. You're a worrier. I'm pretty sure you had some kind of—not a fight, but some kind of misunderstanding—with your Castle, and you came out here without him. And you're dying to call him." She's quiet as she adds the two T's. "Done. I'm going to use blue for his, all right?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"How'd I do? Come pretty close to describing you and your situation?"

She takes another bite of pumpkin pie before answering. "I think maybe you should be a fortune teller, Michelle. Although it'd be a crime to take you away from pie making."

"Huh. Okay then." She makes a few more quick brushstrokes and pushes the mug across the table. "This is quick-dry. You'll be able to wrap them up again in a couple of minutes. Stay as long as you like, but I'd better get crackin'."

"These are perfect. I can't thank you enough."

"No need. Glad to see you smiling."

She does stay for a while, watching the first few regulars come in. She makes a game of guessing what mug goes with which customer. So far she's only one for four, with MIKEY. "Gone from New York for two days and my detective skills are already slipping," she mumbles inaudibly. Even though she's had dessert, she figures it couldn't hurt to have something more substantial, so she joins the short line at the counter and orders a ham sandwich with lettuce and extra mustard. Halfway through, she's pleased when she correctly matches TINA and her mug. When she finishes eating, and nestles the mugs in the cardboard box, she checks her father's watch and is surprised that it's after 1:00. Two hours later in New York, so Alexis must be through with her exams. Maybe Castle will convince his daughter to have dinner with him, especially since she's 2,000 miles away. Not that either of the Castles knows that. She could be in Brooklyn. The point is, she's not at the loft. She tucks a five-dollar bill under her empty FRIEND mug; she's sorely tempted to leave a 50, but she's positive that would offend Michelle. And with that thought she goes to the front of her store and pays the bill.

"Thanks for everything, Michelle," she says, waving the shopping bag.

"You're welcome. You come back sometime, okay?"

"Maybe tomorrow."

"I dunno. I got a feeling about you. I got a feeling you might make a call and decide to head home."

"Sometime. I promise to come back sometime."

"I hope so. Take some of our New Mexico air with you 'til then."

Kate stows the bag, throws her leg over the saddle, and points the bike towards Abiquiu, where she'll take the tour of Georgia O'Keeffe's house and studio. That should keep her busy until late afternoon. Maybe she'll try Castle then. What could it hurt, one little call? She just wants to hear his voice and tell him she loves him, too, and ask if he's seen Alexis yet. Over and out.

At 6:30 she pulls her boots off and lies on the remarkably comfy bed in her motel room. Not as comfy as Castle's bed, but good. Her whole body is aching for him. Screaming for him. She's about to call her from her burner phone when she decides to check her regular one first. He must have left her voicemail; there's no way he wouldn't. Better idea: she'll check texts, which is faster. She scrolls quickly and there it is, one from a few hours ago.

 _I've seen Alexis. Please call me. It's urgent. Please, Kate. I love you._

She grabs the burner phone and calls. He doesn't pick up until the sixth ring.

"Castle? What? What happened?"

TBC

 **A/N** Thank you all for the excellent feedback.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

It's lunchtime—not yet 2:00—but he has no stomach for lunch or anything else. As soon as he'd left that series of messages for Kate, he'd driven home and gone straight to his office.

The fight has gone out of him. He feels deflated and defeated as he collapses into his chair and starts reflecting on his parenting skills, or lack thereof. Yes, every parent makes mistakes, even with the best intentions. He'd made plenty when Alexis was a toddler, when he was very young and stumbling around in the dark. What did he know about raising a child, especially a girl?

But overall, he thinks he's a good father, has been a good father. Often it had been the two of them against the world, but as he had learned more, adapted more, experienced more, their world had opened up. They'd always had fun together, even when she'd hit her teens and most of her friends wanted to spend as little times with their parents as possible. Yes, there had been problems, but they'd almost always been quickly put to rest. He'd make it clear from the very beginning that she could tell him anything, that he'd never judge, because then she'd judge him. It had been an excellent pact. Until now.

He runs his hands wearily across his face. He's still so angry at Alexis, but is some of this on him? Was he over-protective? Yes. For what he thought was right, but yes. In a way, it had made her over-protective of him. Still, she'd done something awful. He could almost understand her reading his journal, having started because she thought it was something for his latest book, and then unable to stop. She's an adult in many ways, but she's also an adolescent. But he is confident—though his confidence has been shaken today—that he has been unwavering in his love and support for her. And dammit, she is old enough to understand different kinds of love. That the heart expands to accommodate each. And she hadn't told him. She hadn't come to him. And worst, she'd lied to Kate.

That's the crux of it. Alexis had lied to Kate, and it was unconscionable. And then Kate hadn't wanted to tell him what she had told her. But shouldn't Kate have doubted it? Been incredulous that he'd say such a thing to his daughter? It's unimaginable. And yet she'd gone, because she feels that she's come between him and Alexis, which in turns makes him feel as if he's crushed between the two of them. The two people he loves most in the world. And Kate has gone, to give him time to work things out with his daughter, and even though she's coming back he wants her now. Wants to talk to her, to see her, to touch her, to fix things before everything is so screwed up that the damage is irreparable.

He can't bear being in the loft alone. He hears their voices everywhere, the phantom footsteps on the bare wood. He needs a drink. He get ups and and sees his face reflected in the glass of the wooden cabinet. He looks like hell, the portrait of dejection. Fuck it. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He pours way too much Scotch in a tumbler and drinks it way too fast. It's an insult to the single malt, but he's looking for amber oblivion. He shakes his head and braces himself against the edge of the desk. He'll knows exactly where he'll find oblivion, by himself, undisturbed. Grateful that he's not too far gone to know that he shouldn't drive, he drops his car keys in a small brass bowl and leaves. When he comes out into Broome Street, he hails a cab.

The phone is ringing, isn't it? Is that the phone? On the screen it says unknown number. He won't answer. Yes he will. Maybe it's someone calling to say they're bringing him another bottle. But it isn't. It's the voice. That voice. The voice that goes to his heart and his brain and his gut and his balls.

"Castle? What? What happened?

"Kate? That you, Kate?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm sorry I didn't get your message right away. Are you all right? And Alexis? You saw her?"

"It's you. You?"

"I promise it's me." He sounds drunk, but there's no noise in the background, and she's uneasy. More than uneasy. "Are you at home?"

"Home? Nooo. Nobody's home."

Definitely drunk. "Where are you?"

"M' office."

"Okay, you are home. In the loft."

"No, m' other office."

Other office? Oh. "Right, you're at the Old Haunt. That's good, Castle. Good. Listen, I'm going to call you right back, so hang up for a minute, okay?"

"You called me?"

"Yes, and I'm calling right back. I'm hanging up but I'll phone you again in a minute. Stay right there."

Oh, God, what the hell happened? She turns off the burner and switches to her regular phone to call Castle's bar manager. "Pete? It's Beckett. Kate Beckett."

"Hey, how are you?"

"Fine, thanks. You?"

"Fine. Pretty good crowd in here tonight."

"Yeah, I can hear. Uh, the reason I'm calling, have you seen Rick?"

"He came in late this afternoon, must be four hours ago? About four thirty maybe?"

"He's in his office."

"I guess. Haven't seen him leave."

"I talked to him just now and between you and me, he's incredibly drunk. I'm worried about him getting home safely. I'm away and won't be back tomorrow, but you know my friend Lanie?"

"Sure, the doc."

"I'm going to try to get her to go over there and roll him to the loft. She might need a little help getting him into a cab, if you could give her a hand?"

"No problem."

"Thanks, Pete. You get the employee of the year award for this."

He chuckles. "Remind Rick of that when he sobers up."

"Oh, I will. Thanks again."

She has one minute to think, and she's frantic. Let your cop side take over, she tells herself, and it works. She's uncomfortable about asking Espo or Ryan; Lanie will want an explanation but will help on a promise of it later. She'll also act doctorly, and not take any shit from Castle. It's a weeknight, so she's probably home.

Decision made, she calls Lanie first.

"Kate? Where the hell are you?"

"I'll be back in the morning. My plan lands at six."

"You better—"

"Please, Lanie. I'll explain everything later. I have to ask you a big favor."

"Some nerve, girl. You take off without a word to anyone, including Castle, and you want a big favor?"

"Wait. How did you know?"

"He called to see if I knew where you were and I didn't, obviously. You better have a hell of an explanation. For doing that and for not telling me."

"I'm sorry. I know, I know. Look, I took off for a few days on my own because there's been some problem between Alexis and Castle and I feel like it's my fault. I wanted him to fix things without me in the way, but he left me a message to call him. I just spoke to him and he's so drunk he can barely put two words together. He needs to go home."

"Ohhh, oh. I get it. You want the doctor in the house, am I right?"

"Please, Lanie, I can't ask the boys, it's—"

"I get it." She sighs. "Where is he?"

"In his office at the Old Haunt. I talked to Pete and he'll help you maneuver Castle into a cab if you need him."

"Okay. On my way. But you owe me for this. No more holding out."

"I know."

"And listen, Kate? Even though I'm pissed off at you, I can tell you're upset. This must be awful for you, too."

It takes every bit of her resolve not to crack, and she doesn't. "Thank you. I have to call Castle back now."

"Good luck. I'll let you know when I've got him home."

"Thanks again. I'll tell him that I'll be there first thing in the morning, but he might not absorb it."

"Okay. Travel safely"

"Will do." Will do if I don't kill myself tearing down I-25 to Albuquerque to return the bike before I go to the airport, she thinks, as she presses a button to call Castle, this time on her usual phone. It rings so long that she's afraid that he's left, or passed out, and then he answers.

"That's you. I see you. There's your face. But I wanna see you. Not the phone you. You, you. Where are you? Where is the real Kate you?"

"I'm coming back, very soon. I'll see you in the morning."

" 's it morning?"

"No, it's nighttime." She hears some movement and he doesn't speak right away. When he does, he sounds confused.

"No window. There's no window?"

"Right, because you're in your office in the basement." Shit, she has to get going or she'll never make her flight. She unzips her suitcase with her free hand and stuffs her clothes into it while she continues to talk. "Castle, I have to catch my plane now, but Pete's coming down to see you, okay? And Lanie."

"Why?"

"Because you sound lonely. They'll keep you company."

"Oh."

"They'll be right there. I'll see you later."

"You will?"

"I will. I love you. Bye."

"Me, too."

While she pulls her boots on she phones Pete again; he promises to have one of the servers fill in for him so that he can wait with Castle until Lanie arrives. She puts the two hand-painted coffee mugs in her oversized purse, runs to the front desk with her carry-on, and pays her bill. She's relieved that the cycle shop stays open late, and when she arrives the man behind the counter offers to call her a cab to the airport. When she steps up to the JetBlue counter, she's so eager to get home that she doesn't even mind paying a fine for changing her ticket, or coughing up the fee for extra leg room. There's no way she'll sleep on the flight home, so she wants to be as comfortable as a five-foot-nine woman can be in a seat that was designed for someone very short. Maybe for a child. If "designed" was even in the mix.

Lanie phones well before her midnight departure. "I got him into bed," she reports. "Well, not in, but on top of. I drew the line at taking off his pants, but between us we got his feet out of his shoes. I tried to make him drink a bottle of water, but a lot of it ended up on the bathroom floor."

"Thanks, Lanie. You're the best. Is he asleep?"

"If he isn't yet, he will be any minute. I'm leaving now. And girl? You better brace yourself for a bitch of a hangover."

"I already am. And your cab fare's on me."

"Damn right it is."

She can't really think until the plane has taken off. She has a window seat, and because it's a clear night she can occasionally see lights or make out ribbons of highways, as the flight goes over the panhandles of Texas and Oklahoma, across great swaths of Kansas and Missouri, Illinois and Indiana. By the time they're crossing from easternmost Ohio into westernmost Pennsylvania, she's so worked up that she wants to dash to the front of the plane, open the door and jump out. Whathappenedwhathappenedwhathappenedwhathappenedwhathappenedwhathappenedwhathappened?

The rational part of her mind, which is reduced to a fraction of its normal size, tells her to keep calm. She doesn't know what happened, and there's nothing she can do until she does. He's seen Alexis, so that's a start. Maybe they can all make a new start. But the insidious little whathappenedwhathappenedwhathappened ear worm keeps at her the rest of the way, until the plane lands at JFK. Once she's in the terminal she stops at the ladies room, where she loses the meager contents of her stomach: an ounce of dry-roasted peanuts and half a ginger ale. She rinses her mouth, splashes cool water on her face, and heads for the taxi stand. It's 6:15, with a faint stain of red in the eastern sky, when she slides into the back seat, wondering if Castle is awake yet.

She comes quietly into the loft, sets her suitcase down softly, and cocks her head. The shower? It sounds as though the water is running. Rather than rushing to check, she turns on the kitchen light and starts some coffee—and then rushes to check. The bathroom door is open, which reduces the steam only a little. He must have been in there for a while. From the bedroom she can see him in in ghostly silhouette, his head bowed, the water pounding on to his shoulders. It's clear that he hasn't heard her, so she takes off her clothes, lets them fall to the floor, and walks into the bathroom.

Even when she opens the shower door, he doesn't budge. His eyes are closed. She moves carefully and presses herself against him, her breasts flat against his back, her cheek above his shoulder blades, and wraps her arms around his rib cage. She's trying to be gentle, but hold him firmly enough that if he startles he won't slip.

He doesn't jump as much as she thought he might, and she moves one palm across his chest. "I'm home, Castle." She kisses the water-slicked skin a few inches below his nape. "I'm home." To her astonishment, her shattered astonishment, he spins in her embrace, hugs her so hard that she can scarcely breathe, and cries. Cries so hard that he's choking. All she can do is cradle his head and say, "Shh, shh, shh, shh."

Eventually he stops, but he doesn't loosen his grip. "You came back," he whispers.

She whispers in return. "I was always coming back."

After they wordlessly dry off and get dressed, they have coffee in the kitchen and begin to talk, with starts and stops and starts, with apologies from him to her and her to him. They fill each other in on their conversations with Alexis. She has less to tell, and he already knows the gist. And though hers took place four days ago—four days that feel like a year—his was only yesterday afternoon, and the wounds are still fresh.

When he tells Kate about his journal, and about Alexis's lie to her, she feels as if she has been shot, in the very same place the bullet had entered her body at Roy Montgomery's funeral. It's physical pain. She can't inhale, she's falling backwards, she hears Castle from far away, saying, "Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate." But when she opens her eyes and sees him, he's not in a black suit, but a maroon tee shirt, and she's not on the grass or even on the floor, but sitting on a stool, curled over her mug in his kitchen. Curled in on herself, protecting her heart. She will not cry. She will not. Will not, because she wills it.

"I knew it," she says. "I knew that you couldn't have said that I was number one, that your exact words to Alexis were 'Kate's everything.' I knew there had to be context, that she took what you said out of context."

"But, Kate, that's just it." He sounds as if he's pleading. "I didn't say it to her. Ever."

"I know you didn't. Wouldn't. I mean I know it now. And I was sure that there was something wrong about it. I tried really hard to ask Alexis, but she was so hurt, and she shut me down. I wanted to say something to you, to ask you, but I couldn't. Not without—. You know. I felt so guilty, and guilt drove out everything else."

"You should have told me. I was so angry at you for leaving, and not at least telling me where you were." He straightens up with a snap. "Where were you, anyway? Where did you go?"

"New Mexico. It was so completely different, and I rented a Harley and figured that my mind could just go blank there. But all I did was think of you, all the time." She stops, and her face hardens. "I'm so mad at myself."

"Aren't you mad at Alexis?"

"Yes. But I also understand what it's like to be without a mother, even though I was lucky to have a great one for 19 years. For a long time I felt as if I were an orphan, because my father was all but dead to me for years. Meredith is a tiny part of Alexis's life, and you're a huge one. You're it, Castle. So I couldn't have her doubting your love for her. It was on me. That's what I thought. And if I just took myself out of the picture you could straighten things out and I could come back."

"Oh, Jesus, Kate." His head bows into his open hands. "I knew you were trying to say something to me that night. I really fucked this up."

"We all fucked this up, in different ways and different degrees and for different reasons. There's plenty of blame to go around. But it can be over. It can be fixed."

"I have to talk to Alexis."

"You do. But you know what? You have a hangover and it can wait a little while. You can talk to her this afternoon or tonight." She pushes her mug aside and stands up. "I don't have to go back to work until Monday. And right now all I want to do is go to bed."

He comes around the counter and draws her into him. "I'm sorry. I know you never sleep on planes, and you must be exhausted."

"Castle," she says into the soft jersey of his shirt. "I want to go to bed with you, not go to bed to sleep."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. You haven't even kissed me yet and I got here at least an hour ago."

It's lunchtime now, and she's hungry. In a minute she'll wake him up and ask him to feed her. He'd carried her to bed from the kitchen, and they'd peeled their clothes off and fallen into bed. They've been together for six months, and known each other for much, much longer, yet what they did over the last few hours stuns her. The sex was loving and hurt and angry and forgiving and questing. It was relieved and impassioned. It was the most emotional sex she's ever had, even more than on that first night.

She changes her mind. She's not going to wake him up, she's going to make them coffee and bring it to bed, just as she had that first morning. But not in the same mugs.

TBC

 **A/N** I meant to put the prompt from Roadrunnerz at the end of chapter 3, and I forgot! "Beckett breaks up with Castle because she believes that she has caused a rift between him and his daughter."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Kate takes one of his shirts from a hanger in the closet, slips into it, and goes to the kitchen. While the coffee's brewing she carefully unwraps the mugs that she'd hand-carried home from New Mexico, and gives them a thorough washing in the sink. They have good handles; they can easily accommodate three of her fingers, and Castle will have no trouble fitting two of his in the space.

Michelle had done a remarkable job painting the names. She had real flair, and the individual brush strokes were almost invisible. Even though she'd never met Castle, and knew nothing about him, she had captured his personality. The blue, quite by chance, is the color of his eyes. The letters slant slightly upwards, which gives his name a playful, forward movement, and an optimism of a kind that he usually displayed. One which Kate hopes will, has, returned. The painting of her own name, Beckett, is more straightforward, serious. That's right, she thinks. That's pretty much me. But even with what's happened, she's optimistic. He makes her optimistic. Something she hasn't been in years.

She fills the mugs, and when she walks through the open bedroom door with them he opens his eyes. He's not sitting up, but lying on his side, and he smiles.

"So it wasn't a dream this time, either. And I remember that shirt."

"Yeah." She'd hoped he would, was pretty sure he would. "I made you a coffee." She sits on the side of the bed and hands it to him, just as she had that spring day. "I brought you a special mug."

He pushes himself up against the quilted headboard. "Is this from New Mexico?"

"Yes. Hand painted by a very wise woman, Michelle, who owns a tiny store slash diner in a tiny town where all the regulars have their own mugs. They hang on the wall there."

He looks steadily at her. "So you're a regular already?"

"It felt like it. It will for you, too, when we go there. We have to go there together sometime. Soon."

He takes his first sip and turns to put the mug on his nightstand, just as he had that first time, after the storm. "It's been a hell of a morning, hasn't it?" he ask quietly.

"Yeah, hell of a morning."

"Lot of sex, lot of talking, all of it important."

"I know."

"Thanks for telling me that your Dad knew where you were. I did think about asking him, but there was no way."

"I talk to him about you and me, Castle. It makes us closer, and I want him to know. He and I were in the dark about each other for so long." She drinks some coffee before she continues. "I wouldn't go away with my fake ID without telling someone, and the someone would be my father or you. In this case, obviously, him. He knew the name I was using, and he had the burner number, in case anything happened. And I had his cell listed under ICE."

"What if—"

She puts her fingers on his lips, just as she had that night inside the doorway, as the rain dripped from her hair onto the floor. "What if I got hit by a truck? That's what you were going to say, isn't it?"

"Well, that, or."

"Don't say it." She shudders. "My fingerprints are on file, you know. There are dental records. It's weird to have you be the morbid one here. That's usually my job. I knew you'd want to follow me, so I covered my tracks to keep you from doing it. I wanted you to stay here and spend time with Alexis. That's why."

"I get it. Still stings."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But for me, the reason was right, based on what I knew. You see? I have to say it one more time: I couldn't come between you and your daughter, and I thought I had. You didn't want to talk about you and Alexis, and when I tried, you thought it was the drink talking. I should have pressed, but I just—" She looks longingly at him. "I thought we got this straightened out an hour ago."

It's his turn to sigh. "We did." He looks past her shoulder at something, or nothing, and she can see thoughts moving behind his eyes. "We have to talk to Alexis."

"We?"

"Yes, we."

"How about if I talk to her alone, Castle? And then you can."

"Let me think about it." He turns suddenly and throws his legs over the side of the bed. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good." He stands, takes her by the hand, and pulls her up. "Let's go make breakfast."

Four waffles (two and a half for him, one and a half for her) and a lot of conversation later, they agree. Kate will talk to Alexis first, on her own. Virtually certain that the girl won't take her phone call, she decides on the same course of action that she had used last week, only this time she'll wait outside class, not her dorm room. Since Castle has his daughter's schedule, it's easy to find out where she is.

Her last class that day ends at 3:50, and Kate—counting her blessings that she has the week off—stations herself across the street from the building. Bright red hair makes Alexis stand out, even in a crowd of students who are dressed almost identically. Kate watches her break away with another girl, and follows at a distance. When they go inside a coffee shop, she hangs back, and ducks into the card store opposite, feeling a little like a bad private eye. A quarter of an hour later the girls emerge, and part company. That's Kate's cue, and when she reaches the corner she runs across the street and taps Alexis on the elbow.

"Hi."

"Detective Beckett?" She flinches as if she'd been slapped, despite Kate's even tone of voice. "I thought you were—uh, I thought. Dad said you were away."

"I was." She hooks her arm through Alexis's, for any number of reasons. A show of affection, a show of strength, maybe of control. "But I came back. This morning. Your father and I talked for a long time. This is a terrible place for you and me to talk, though, isn't it? The middle of Broadway?" She makes a show of looking around. "It's still light, though, and not too cold. We're only a block from Riverside Park. Why don't we find a bench there?" She gives Alexis's elbow a tug. If the teenager had thought about resisting, she abandoned the idea.

They walk one block west and enter the park. Even though there are kids playing after school, and the usual assortment of dogs, cyclists, and joggers, it's relatively uncrowded and Kate claims an empty bench that looks out over the river. She sits, and pats the wooden slats. "C'mon, join me. I'm not gonna bite."

There's a flicker of something in Alexis's eyes that looks a lot like relief. "Okay."

"You're so lucky to be this close to the Hudson. I'd come over here every day if I lived up here." Stop avoiding and just do it, she thinks, although hurling herself into the cold, somewhat grubby water seems more appealing at the moment. "Your father told me about the conversation the two of you had. I'm pretty sure he didn't leave anything out, either to spare me or to spare himself. It must have been incredibly painful for both of you."

There's a just audible "yeah" from Alexis.

"I know that you're angry at me about the way I've behaved towards your father in the past. Some of it is justified and some of it isn't, but I want to apologize for hurting you in any way, since that's never, ever been my intent."

There's a cargo ship moving slowly upriver. If she swims fast, she could get to it. The crew would rescue her and take her to Canada or wherever they're going. No,the river ends upstate. But it's not far from Canada. She could get a bus. Maybe go to Hudson Bay. It's beautiful there. They have those great Hudson Bay striped blankets. Her parents had one on their bed in the cabin. It's still there. Jesus, Beckett, she tells herself, woman up.

"I'm not going to say anything about your reading your father's journal—that's between you and him, and it's none of my business. But what is my business is your lying to me. You let me believe that your father told you that I, not you, was the most important thing in his life. I couldn't believe it, and yet to some extent I did. Because you've always seemed a truthful person, and why would you say that if it hadn't happened?"

That's what makes the dam break: Alexis bursts into tears. Beckett's first reaction is to comfort her, but she squashes it. That will come later. For now, she'll press on. "And that's why I took off, which was devastating for your father. He was without either of us. I doubt that he showed you the note that I left him, but I told him that I was going away for a bit, that he shouldn't follow me. But I also said that I loved him and that he should spend time with you and—these were my exact words—'let her know that she's the most important thing in your life'."

She puts her arm around Alexis, and draws her in. With her free hand she roots around in her jacket pocket and finds a little package of Kleenex, which she offers to Castle's sobbing daughter.

"Your relationship to your father is amazing. This hasn't ruptured it, I promise. He asked me this morning, 'Aren't you mad at Alexis?' I said yes, but I understood to a certain extent why you did what you did. That didn't make the hurt any less, but it made forgiveness easier."

The crying has stopped, dwindled to a little snuffling. Kate lets go of Alexis's shoulder: what happens next is up to the redhead. There's a period of silence before she speaks.

"Thanks, Detective Beckett."

"Kate."

"Kate."

"I'm sorry that I lied. And screwed everything up."

"Thank you. I'm pretty sure it's getting unscrewed. Look, you're a grown-up. I don't know what's going to happen in the future anymore than anyone else does, but I'm in this for good with your father, all right? You might regard that as a mixed blessing, but I hope the pluses outweigh the minuses for you." She squeezes Alexis's gloved hand with her own, and looks right at her. "I'm going to get on the subway now, before the rush-hour mob. I feel better. I hope you do, too. The air's clearer. That's a start, right?"

Alexis nods.

"One more thing. You need to get in touch with your father. Consider it your apology to me, all right?"

"Okay. Thanks, De—. Kate."

"Right. Bye." She turns away from the girl and the river, and uses her long legs to stride quickly and purposefully to 110th Street and the welcome—yes, welcome—subway. At Times Square she changes lines, and texts Castle that she's almost there.

He's waiting at the door to the loft, and she walks into his embrace. "How did it go?" he asks, still hugging her.

"Pretty well, I think. I didn't want to stretch it out, you know?" She drops her arms so that she can take off her jacket and hang it up. "I just wanted to say my piece and give her a chance to absorb it."

"You think she did?"

"She said very little, but I think she got it. She apologized for lying, and that's a start. That's what I told her. The air is clearer, and it's a good start."

He's about to reply when his phone rings. It's Alexis's tone.

"I think you should answer that, Castle," she says, then kisses him lightly and walks to the bedroom.

TBC

 **A/N** Thank you again for the 2Rs  & 2Fs (reads, reviews, follows, and favorites). I will be out of the country until next Tuesday night and hope to wrap the story up as soon as I'm back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"Alexis?"

"Hi, Dad." Her voice, unlike his, is a little wobbly. "I, um, talked with Detective Beckett today."

"She told me."

"Oh."

He's going to force her to carry the conversational ball. He can wait a very long time. Ordinarily he's a restless guy, but he waited years for Beckett and he'll have no trouble now waiting for Alexis to speak.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she says at last.

"You should be." It's strange and unsettling to feel the tension between him and his daughter. He knows how lucky he's been that she's had a relatively peaceful adolescence, but it doesn't make this moment any less stressful.

"I know."

He lets that hang in the air, the air that's improbably both dead and crackling.

"I do, really. I know."

He lets that sit for a while, too, before he responds. "And do you know, understand, how much pain you caused? Kate and I could easily have broken up over this, over what you did, what you set in motion. I shouldn't speak for her, but I will. I think it would have crushed both of us."

"I'm sorry. It was stupid."

"A lot worse than stupid."

When he hears a sniffle, his heart contracts, but he doesn't yield. Eventually she continues. "Are you ever going to forgive me, Dad?"

"I already have. But it doesn't mean that I'm not still upset by what you did. I'm a forgive-and-forget person. You know that. But I haven't forgotten yet. You broke a bond, Alexis, and it's going to take a while to heal." He weighs the next sentence. Should he share this information, or not? He opts for the former. "Kate told me to talk to you and I have."

"She told me that, too. That I should talk to you."

"That should tell you something, then." He sighs. "When she went away, she was trying to give us time together, you and me."

"I guess."

"No guessing necessary. She was." He hears some faint noises in the background, as if Alexis were pacing in her room.

"I was wondering if I could come over on the weekend. My last midterm is Friday."

"You may be living in a dorm, but the loft is still your home. You never have to ask." He pauses. "Except I won't be there this weekend. Kate took this week off, so we're going away for a few days. Maybe next Monday we could have dinner." There's more rustling. "At home. And talk some more."

"Okay. Monday." She sounds about eight years old.

"Good luck on the rest of your midterms, even though I know that in your case luck isn't necessary."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Bye." He clicks off his phone, feeling more at ease than he has in weeks. The weekend. Jesus, how had he forgotten? He hadn't, really, but he's mentally scrapping the tentative plan he'd made a least a month ago—to go to the Hamptons, which is fantastic at this time of year when there are so few people around—and already formulating a new one. A surprise new one, although the Hamptons weekend would have been a surprise, too. Before he goes to the bedroom to ask Kate if she wants to go out to dinner or eat in, he spends a few minutes online on his phone, to get some basic information he'll need.

Neither of them has the strength or the interest in going out or in cooking, and two hours later they're stretched out on the sofa, the last slice of pizza curling slightly in the box, two empty bottles of beer next to it. They'd talked about his phone call with Alexis, and Kate's relieved that he's getting back on solid ground with his daughter.

"You're happier than you've been in weeks, Castle," she murmurs against his bicep. "I'm glad."

"Me, too. It's been exhausting."

"I feel as though I could sleep for a month, don't you?"

"A month? Really, Beckett? You mean sleep-sleep, actually sleeping? Or sleeeeep," he draws out the word and raises one eyebrow.

That gets an appreciative chuckle from her. "Sleep-sleep for eighteen hours, maybe, so I have the energy for sleeeeeep."

"That's good. Because you still have five days off. And I was hoping that we could use them productively."

"I do, don't I?" She rolls over and lies on his chest. "But tomorrow I'm going to have dinner with Lanie. I really owe her."

"Me, too. She got me home from the Old Haunt when I was so wasted that I was totally useless. And she put me to bed. Decorously, very decorously." He raises his head just enough to be able to kiss Kate very indecorously.

"Mmmm, nice," she says lazily. "Seriously, though, just Lanie and me, okay? Girl talk."

"Okay, okay, I'll find a way to occupy myself."

He does. He lets her sleep not for 18 hours, but for 16, waking her only because he knows she'll want to shower and dress before meeting Lanie for dinner. He spends part of the day finalizing plans, and while she's out for the evening he packs two carry-on bags, one for him and one for her, and stows them in the hall closet.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks after she comes through the door and is unzipping her boots.

"Yes, thanks," she replies. "Might have overdone the wine just a little."

"You're sure it was just a little? I know how the two of you get. "

"Yeah." She kisses him lightly. "But Lanie's another story."

"It's your hollow leg. Much longer than hers, so you can hold your liquor better."

"Hollow leg, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

She pulls him close to her. "You won't think it's hollow," she says against his lips, "when I have it wrapped around your waist."

"That a promise?"

"Oh, yeah."

"What about your other leg?"

"I think you'll find it in excellent working condition. In combination with the other, it has a vise-like grip."

His hand has already made its way under her blouse and is cupping her breast. "You gonna show me?"

"Definitely. But it works so much better with our clothes off."

Much later, as they're drifting off to sleep, he says, ""You weren't kidding about the vise-like grip. I think I have bruises."

She kicks him softly in response. "That an objection, Castle?"

"No. Gratitude." He throws an arm around her and curls against her back. "It's kind of like an X-rated hickey."

"You're such a romantic."

"That's one of the reasons you love me."

"It is. Night." And she's out.

The next morning, after they've showered together and had a leisurely breakfast, they're having an extra cup of coffee. He bows to her and asks solemnly, "What's the penalty for kidnapping in this city?"

"Federal offense, Castle. Major, major prison time. Twenty years plus. Why?"

"Hmm. Still worth it."

"Kidnapping? What the hell are you talking about?"

He pushes his stool away and in one clean move has her over his shoulder. "I'm kidnapping you, Kate. Right now. Don't fight me on this. The getaway car is downstairs."

She's swatting him on the back. "Put me down. Right now."

"If I put you down, will you come along quietly and nicely?"

"Yes."

"You'd better not have your fingers crossed when you say that."

"Put me down."

"Fine," he says, depositing her by the front door but holding onto one of her hands. He opens the closet, wheels out their two small suitcases, and grabs their coats. "Let's go."

They're almost at the airport before he tells her where they're going, and only because she's threatening him with bodily harm.

"You'll hurt me if I don't tell you? What, like beat me up?"

"I'll do worse that that, Castle."

"What, then?"

"Does Lysistrata ring a bell?"

"You mean the Arisotophanes comedy?"

"The very one. In which Lysistrata persuaded all the women in Greece to stop having sex with their husbands or lovers until they stopped fighting a war."

"You'd do that?"

"Bet your ass I would. And you wouldn't be laughing."

"Santa Fe," he almost shrieks, as he holds his hands up. "We're going to Santa Fe. Flying home on Sunday, and that's all I'm saying until we get to our hotel."

"Are we staying at the Silver Saddle?" she asks, eyes glowing.

"No," he growls. "We're not staying at the Saddle Sore, a motel with half-inch thick walls."

"Silver Saddle," she says semi-indignantly. "And it's very nice."

"Do the rooms have fireplaces? And Jacuzzis? And walk-in showers?"

"No."

"Case closed."

"Wouldn't want you to have to rough it, Castle."

"This is a vacation, not summer camp."

"It's November."

"Exactly. Way too cold to rough it."

It's not until they're in their seats, the plane moving out onto the runway, that she leans against him and kisses his cheekbone. "Thank you, Castle. This is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"You're welcome. But I'm doing it for me, too."

"Fireplaces and Jacuzzis, huh?"

"That's not the only reason I chose it."

"What else, a vibrating bed?"

"Uh, you really think we need that? We make—"

She clamps her hand over his mouth. "Shhh. This is a public place."

"You're the one who brought up the vibrating bed. What I was going to say, before your very public censorship, was that the hotel—hotel, with an H, not motel—we're staying in is the only one in the city that's owned by Native Americans. And I thought that you'd like that."

"I do," she says.

Over dinner that evening he tells her that he'd wanted to come to New Mexico after he'd published his first book, _In a Hail of Bullets_ , because this is where Tony Hillerman lived and wrote.

"Sorry. Who's Tony Hillerman?"

"Who's Tony Hillerman?" Castle is so shocked he nearly breaks the stem of his wine glass. "One of the greatest mystery writers ever. Anywhere. Uniquely American. His cops are with the Navajo Tribal Police and his books are like morality plays. And they have such an amazing sense of place. You told me how much you love the landscape out here? The New Mexican landscape is like a character in his books."

"I'm surprised I've never heard you talk about him. You must know him, right?"

"I wish I did. Had. He died four years ago, before you and I even crossed paths. I met him once, a long time ago, at a conference. And I thanked him for inspiring me not just with his books but for helping me decide to write crime novels in the first place."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

"When I was trying to get going, and failing, I read an article about him," he says, looking a little wistful at the recollection. "He was a newspaper man, in his forties, who really wanted to write a novel but didn't know how to start. He said a mystery story has a ready-made structure, a skeleton, and he just had to figure out how to hang flesh on it. So that's what he did. I'd never thought about it that way, and it made all the difference."

She takes a long, long look at him. "You know what? I love how much I still don't know about you, even after all this time. I love how often you surprise me."

For every kind of reason, that touches him so much that he doesn't say anything, just reaches across the table, squeezes her hand, and doesn't let go.

After a bit she smiles. "Do you want dessert? Or do you want to go home? Home meaning the hotel."

"I do. Want to go."

"Me, too." They hold hands all the way back, and they're still holding hands when they fall asleep. It's a king-size bed in a luxurious suite, but they're snuggled so closely they could fit in a cot.

After their room-service breakfast the next morning, Castle ducks out to a bookstore nearby while Kate's in the shower. She's just gotten dressed when he walks in with a small bag. "I got you something."

She takes the bag from him, and peeks in. " _Skinwalkers_. Thanks, Castle. Is this the first Tony Hillerman?"

"Nope. But it's the first one in which his two main characters, Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee, work together. Seems like the right place for you to start."

They spend the day driving through the countryside, much of it Navajo country. He keeps pointing out places that he's sure, or thinks may be, ones where Leaphorn and Chee appear. Often she looks admiringly at the rock formation or mesa or crossroads or gas station that he's pointing to, but almost as often he can't get her attention.

"Get your nose out of that book, Beckett," he says after she hasn't lifted her eyes to the sky full of mammatus clouds.

"It's your fault, Castle," she says without looking up. "You gave it to me. But you're so right about the landscape as a character." A few moments later she closes the book with a snap, but not before marking her place with one of the dust jacket flaps. "So you never made a pilgrimage here?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Life got away from me, I guess. I suddenly had a lot of money and I was young and stupid. The next thing I knew I had a baby to take care of and seeing this part of the country kind of fell off my radar. If you hadn't come out here last weekend I probably never would have seen all this."

She puts her hand on his thigh. "It's a good thing, then, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He drops his right hand from the steering wheel and covers hers. "It's a very good thing."

Much as he has loved this day, he's itching for the next. At dinner she says, "Castle, you got ants in your pants?"

"I always have ants in my pants if I'm looking at you. Especially in candlelight."

"I'll take that as a compliment, but seriously, you look like you're about to fall off that chair from squirminess."

He straightens up and sits perfectly still. "How's this?"

"Good boy. I can't believe I'm saying this, but finish your dinner."

"Yes, ma'am."

They're still awake at midnight, and he could say something then, but he wants to wait until morning. It's rare that he's the first to wake, but he is, and slips out of bed. As quietly as possible he retrieves two packages that he'd left in his suitcase, and slips the larger one into his messenger bag and the smaller into his bathrobe pocket. Their suite has a top-of-the-line coffeemaker—though not as top-of-the-line as his—and he makes a pot. When it's done he pours two mugs, and walks back to the bedroom.

He puts the mugs on Kate's nightstand, leans over and kisses her. He sees her eyes move beneath the lids, watches her nose twitch, and kisses her again.

"Morning, Castle," she says, and gives him the slightly goofy smile that invariably makes his knees weak.

"Morning," he says, and crawls over her. "I made us coffee."

"Mmm, can smell it." She closes her eyes again.

"Don't go to sleep on me, Kate," he says. "I've got big plans for us today, especially breakfast."

" 'kay." She pushes herself up into a sitting position. He reaches over, and before she can say a word has pulled her slip of a nightgown over her head and tossed it to the floor.

"Your big plans include a morning quickie, Castle?"

"I never say no to that. But that wasn't why I just got you undressed."

"Well, that's a first."

He reaches into his pocket and removes a slim box that's wrapped in purple paper and tied with a silvery silk ribbon. "I wanted you to be in your birthday suit when you opened this."

"My birthday suit?" She has that little wrinkle between her eyebrows that has the same effect on him as her goofy smile.

"Because it's your birthday. Happy birthday, Kate." He presses the box into her hands.

"Oh, my God," her eyes widen. "I'd completely forgotten."

"I figured. Go on, open your present."

"Oh," she says, on a long breath. "Oh, Castle, it's beautiful. It's so beautiful."

"May I put it on you?"

She nods, and extends her arm. He circles her wrist with the diamond-and-emerald bracelet, and closes the clasp. "See? You didn't have to remind me."

"What do you mean?" She's obviously puzzled, but fingering each stone.

"When we were talking about a case a few weeks ago. Jewelry."

Now she breaks into a smile that has no goofiness at all. "Oh, that. I said that I'd have to remind you when my birthday's coming up."

"And I said, 'Why, Detective Beckett, was that a hint you just dropped?' "

"Speaking of dropping, Castle," she says, turning to nip his ear. "I think you need to get rid of that robe. This minute."

He unties it. "I called you shameless then, and I'll call you shameless now." And just like that, the robe joins her nightgown on the floor.

"That was the longest quickie ever," she says later, still breathing hard and still a little sweaty as she's draped over his chest.

"I hope that's not a complaint, birthday girl."

"Birthday woman."

"Right. Nothing girlish about what you just did." He kisses her again. "But we have to get up. Shower. Dress."

"For your big breakfast plan?"

"Yup."

"So I can't eat in my birthday suit, even though it's my birthday?"

"Much as I'd enjoy that, I'm afraid not."

Around 9:45, she peers through the windshield. "Where are we going?"

"That's the fifth time you've asked me that since we got in the car. Don't make my blindfold you. This is supposed to be a surprise."

When they turn onto a certain back road, she knows exactly where they're headed. "Oh, Castle. I can't believe this. We're going to Michelle's, aren't we?"

"We are. We're almost there, right?"

She almost squeals. "Yes."

He's only just cut the motor when she opens her door and gets out, and he's glad of it because he can grab his bag without her noticing it.

"C'mon, Castle," she says, waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. She's not wearing gloves, even though it's chilly, and the sun is catching on her bracelet. They walk in hand in hand, and he's pleased to see there are no other customers inside.

Alerted by the tinkling of the bell when the door opens, Michelle looks up from behind the counter, and grins. "Well, look who's here. Never thought I'd see you so soon. Couldn't resist my pie, huh?"

"You have pie? For breakfast?" Castle looks like a kid on his first trip to a bakery.

"Of course I have pie for breakfast, Mister Castle."

"You know who—"

"Course I know who you are. I painted your name on a mug, didn't I?" She winks. "And hers. Caroline's. Although I suspect I should be calling her Kate."

It's Beckett's turn to be surprised. "You knew?"

"Not until you had me paint those mugs, honey. That's when the penny dropped. But I figured if you were here under an alias or whatever, it was no business of mine." She turns her eyes back to Castle. "Don't let it go to your head, but I like your books. I was glad when you eighty-sixed Derrick Storm, though. He was getting to be a pain in the keester."

"I can see why you like her, Kate." He extends his hand. "I'm Rick."

"I'm Michelle," she says, shaking his hand warmly. "I'm guessing you're here for breakfast."

"We are. It's a big day. Kate's birthday."

"Ah, ha. Many happy returns, Kate. Why don't you two sit over there by the window? That's where she was before. I think it might be her lucky table."

Castle hangs back briefly while Kate is heading for a chair, and quickly passes a shopping bag to Michelle. He tilts his head and she acknowledges it with a nod. Once he has joined Kate, Michelle strolls over.

"What's your pleasure?"

"I'm putting myself in your hands," Castle says. "I have a feeling I'll love whatever it is."

"Same here," Beckett says. "And coffee whenever you can, please. I'm desperate for caffeine."

"Coming right up. Two coffees. And breakfast? I'll give it my best shot."

Michelle returns quickly, a mug in each hand. "I believe this is yours, Kate," she says, setting it down. "And this is Rick's."

He's fixed on Kate's face. Her expression, which was already soft, gets even softer. She looks luminous and astonished. "You brought these? All the way from New York?"

"I did. You said you already felt like a regular here, so I thought you should have a regular's mug."

She swallows hard. "Not very often that I cry in my coffee, Castle. Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome. Happy Birthday. I know you hate surprises, but I thought it was worth the risk."

"More than." She pulls a paper napkin out of the dispenser and wipes her eyes. "This is the best day. I haven't had a good birthday in a long time."

He picks up his mug and clinks it against hers. "To great birthdays from now on."

"To great birthdays."

Just as they finish their coffee, Michelle arrives with fully-loaded plates. "Apple-stuffed pancakes with cinnamon and maple syrup, and fried ham steaks. I'll bring the pie when you're done with this."

"Are they your apples?" Kate asks. "From the tree in your yard?"

"Please. Why would I use any one else's?"

"I hope the ham didn't used to be a pig you know," Castle says.

"Not by name," Michelle replies.

Kate laughs. "Would you like to join us?"

"Thanks, honey, but I gotta get ready for the lunch bunch. And I think you lovebirds need time by yourselves."

"Can we move here?" Castle says as the chef-owner disappears.

"Not sure this town has much need of a homicide detective. But there's always vacation time."

"And weekends. Not that bad of a trip."

Discretion keeps them from licking their plates, but they leave nothing behind. When they go to the counter to pay, Castle gives Michelle their mugs. "I think we're going to come out this way as often as we can. Do you think we could hang these up on the rack?"

"I already made space for 'em," she says, pointing at the wall and two shiny new hooks. "I'll see ya when I see ya. Don't be strangers."

"We won't," Kate says, reaching over to give the other woman a hug. "Thank you."

They're almost at the car when Michelle appears at the door. "Hey, Rick? Got a second?"

"Sure," he says, lifting an eyebrow at Kate before he trots back to the diner.

"Come on in," she says. "I just got one thing to say. Next time you're here I wanna see a ring on her finger. And it better be as fancy as that bracelet I bet you gave her today."

"You're on. Consider it done."

When he slides into his seat, Kate looks hard at him. She can tell he's working hard to suppress a grin. "What did she want? You leave her a huge tip?"

"No, she just had a question for me."

He turns the key.

"And?"

"And I said yes."

 **A/N** Thank you for the prompt, Roadrunnerz, which took me to places I don't usually visit in FF. Thanks to everyone else for coming along on the trip. Your kindness means a lot to me. Later this week I hope to post the first chapter of a new story that begins where S3 ended.


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